


Climb This Mountain

by rustingroses



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Emotions, Idiots in Love, M/M, sex on ice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-20 23:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9520859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustingroses/pseuds/rustingroses
Summary: When Yuuri leaves his own celebration to skate at Ice Castle Hasetsu, Victor can't help but follow him. After all, they're long overdue for a conversation.





	

When Yuuri finally disappeared, Victor expected it.

There’d been the gala, and the banquet where despite last years’ events several sponsors took notice of Yuuri and the silver medal hanging around his neck. The after-banquet party and the dance battle rematch. Interviews about Yuuri’s feelings about the outcome of the GPF and plans for the rest of the season. Interviews about Victor’s coaching and plans to return to competitive skating in the middle of the season. Dealing with Yakov. Dealing with Yuri. Dealing with Yakov and Yuri dealing with the fact that Victor wasn’t returning to St. Petersburg without Yuuri. Then there’d been the airport, the flight and the train ride back to Hasetsu, and the party where they’d spent hours being congratulated and celebrating Yuuri’s success. None of it was bad, exactly, but it was entirely overwhelming after a point, even for Victor, and Victor usually thrived on celebration. Not to mention they’d barely gotten any rest leading up to the free skate – hard to sleep peacefully, when the worst part about the whole argument was that there wasn’t a good answer, or even an easy answer, and there was just enough space between them in the bed to feel like a gulf that they might never cross again.

Victor hadn’t been able to stop running his fingertips over the cool gold of his ring that night, nor had he been able to stop the subconscious habit since.

So when Yuuri vanished as the party in his honor wound down, Yuuko smiled as she tucked in the triplets and pressed the second set of keys into Victor’s hand. Victor’s eyes were burning from exhaustion, but he smiled back gratefully and rummaged around in his belongings before slinging the bag with his skates over his shoulder and stepping into the entry way. Makkachin noticed him and whined, lifting her head from where she’d been dozing. “Come on,” Victor offered, gesturing, but Makkachin didn’t move. “Too cold for you, is it? Hasetsu has spoiled you. What’ll you do when we go back to Russia?” Makkachin whined again, and put her head back down. Victor mouth curved faintly, studying his dog, the soft greying around her muzzle and sleepy expression. “I’ll go check on him myself, then.” As he slipped on his running shoes and jacket, he called out softly, “I’ll be back,” as had become habit these past eight months, before closing the door softly behind him.

Makkachin had the right of it; even though Hasetsu was far more southern than St. Petersburg, it was still the middle of the night in the middle of winter. Victor picked up his pace, fingertips freezing, and muttered uncharitably under his breath. Ice Castle came into view, slowly but surely, and he jogged up the steps, fitting the key he’d been given into the lock and slipping into the stillness and comparative warmth. He peeked in at the rink proper, and sure enough, Yuuri practiced school figures under the stark lights, his back mostly to Victor.

Victor sighed, rubbing at his eyes, and went to the benches to get his skates on. Handling Yuuri’s anxiety without deliberately detonating bombs that would hurt him required a certain amount of verbal finesse that Victor typically lacked. He’d always been better expressing himself using his body, although he knew he couldn’t put off discussing matters forever. That might lead to another round of Yuuri selfishly making decisions for them both, a notion Victor loathed. At the entrance to the ice, he slipped off his guards and set them on the edge next to Yuuri’s own and his glasses while Yuuri switched legs, expression unfocused and distant. “Yuuri,” Victor complained loudly as he stepped onto the ice. “Why aren’t we both sleeping right now?” He put his hands on his hips, scowling.

Yuuri yelped, form faltering before he regained his footing and came to a halt. “Victor?” He had the expression of doe-eyed shock that Victor privately considered both adorable and intensely aggravating. “When did you get here?” He peered a little, squinting, as though it was more than just his poor eyesight that left him disbelieving of Victor’s presence.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Victor pointed out, pouting a little. “Did you really think that I’d just miss the fact that you left, or ignore the fact that you’re here, practicing, instead of getting much deserved rest?” The notion didn’t reflect well as either coach or fiancé, and Victor felt a little flare of frustration that he quashed. “Of course I’m here. What’s wrong, Yuuri?” Despite his annoyance, he couldn’t help the way his voice softened around Yuuri’s name any more than he could help reaching his hands out. Yuuri looked ragged, with darkened circles beneath his eyes and quivering muscles that seemed dangerously inclined towards fight or flight. “Yuuri,” he murmured again, aching.

Yuuri’s gaze dropped, but in several smooth strides he was across the rink and pressing his nose against the curve of Victor’s neck, arms wrapped tightly around Victor as he knocked them back. Victor grunted a little as the small of his back hit the edge of the wall, but he kept Yuuri pressed close, and both of them exhaled like a tension they hadn’t even been aware of had eased. Yuuri’s warmth was welcome after the chill both outside and coming from the ice beneath their feet, so Victor savored it. They stood together for a few moments, Victor’s eyes closed as he focused on Yuuri’s steady breathing. Then, because Victor had never been known for his patience and because he truly was exhausted, he repeated, “Well? What’s wrong?”

“Ah – about that,” Yuuri muttered, and then stopped. “It’s too much.” His accent thickened, as it always did when he was anxious, but each word was perfectly formed, heavily weighted, falling like stones. Victor hummed a little, aiming for encouraging acknowledgement. It must have worked, because Yuuri took a deep breath.

“It’s enough to have you skate again.”

Victor didn’t have a chance to react to the determination in the words; Yuuri lifted his head, eyes ablaze despite shadows of pain and anxiety. Victor’s fingers tightened on him, pinned and wanting and dazzled. “You need it, I saw it in you. You still love it, and I can’t take that away from you. That’s why I said you should come back, why I was so happy when you said you would. Coaching me shouldn’t – I don’t want to interfere with that – you – watching you – it’s enough, _you’re_ enough, everything you’ve done already – I just want you – ”

Victor couldn’t protest about his desire to skate again for even a moment, not when he thought of both his broken records and of watching the other GPF finalists perform, not when he thought about Yuuri’s immense drive and what it would be like to follow him out onto the ice. The needs all tangled together, and he had to try to make Yuuri understand. There was no return for Victor without Yuuri to stand beside, strive beside, on and off the ice; there was only a set of shackles awaiting him.

“It’s because of you, it’s all because of you,” Victor interrupted, tender but sharp, at the same time Yuuri blurted out, loud enough to nearly drown out Victor’s prayer, “And - I want to face you!”

Victor couldn’t have said who looked more stunned. Yuuri was certainly the one who looked more mortified, though, and Victor couldn’t help but ask, “You wanted to face me?” Yuuri had gone scarlet, right to the tips of his ears. Heat of an entirely different sort shivered against Victor’s skin. “Ah, is it possible? Yuuri Katsuki has no interest in anything other than defeating me?” He couldn’t help the teasingly mournful note to his voice, charmed.

It was a glorious thought, Victor had to admit, and one he hadn’t been able to stop contemplating in his every idle moment since his decision to return: to watch as Yuuri’s talent continued to bloom, to watch him skate beautifully and earn a gold medal by outperforming Victor, Yuri, and every other skilled skater to cross his path – to watch him recapture the love of skating, of life, over and over again, and inspire Victor to do the same. They would compete, yes, but they weren’t in competition, every fresh performance driving them forward together. Of course, if Yuuri did earn that gold medal, Victor would win as well, albeit on an entirely different battlefield. The gold ring circling his finger abruptly felt very real, and very warm. Yuuri stammered something, whiskey-brown eyes enormous, and Victor tilted his face in close. Yuuri’s lips parted in a wholly unconscious and utterly appealing way. “How heartless, Yuuri… I won’t give up the gold easily, you know. If you want me to kiss something other than gold, it’ll have to be something very exciting, you know that now.”

“It’s not like that! I want to skate beside you – I want to see you – ” He cut himself off, flustered, and then continued, “Coaching – coaching me will interfere! You said it!” Yuuri squeaked out, leaning back away from the almost-kiss.

Victor tutted, chasing Yuuri’s movements. “No. I _need_ you, Yuuri.” There was no room for negotiation. “Besides, no one else could compose a program to beat me except, well, me. I’m not going to let anyone else even have the chance with you, Yuuri.” His voice dropped a little and he caught Yuuri’s gaze. “Not ever. I promised to take care of you until you retired, didn’t I? And I still hope you never do. I want to choreograph for you, with you, and watch you when you skate our programs, and that makes any time spent working with you worthwhile. Don’t you want to perform for me, Yuuri?”

Yuuri twisted again, face flaming, but his pulse was leaping in his throat, and the crimson flush was sliding down towards his shoulders. It took him a moment to recover, but Victor waited patiently. “But Russia!” Yuuri exclaimed, as though that was a sensible argument.

“What about Russia?” Victor asked, refusing to let Yuuri escape his arms and knowing Yuuri was too conscious and kind to deliberately overbalance them while on their skates to get away. He could all but feel Yuuri’s fluttering heartbeat despite their clothes.

“You’re going to train under Yakov again, aren’t you?” Yuuri asked in a high squeak. “So it’s – ”

“So change home rinks with me,” Victor interrupted.

Yuuri’s eyes went wider still, and he fell silent, all thoughts of objection suddenly falling by the wayside as he finally seemed to recognize that Victor was painfully earnest. Victor suffered from the abrupt realization that he was truly offering to build a future together with Yuuri, explicitly, one that he had no intention of ever giving up. Despite telling Yuuri he’d return to competitive skating, despite agreeing to remain on as Yuuri’s coach, they hadn’t found a proper moment to talk about what came next. From Yuuri’s expression, the commitment Victor offered had not escaped him.

Panicking and wholly aware of how much of himself he was baring, but somehow keeping his voice even, Victor pointed out, “I’ll be training under Yakov again, but I have an apartment in St. Petersburg. Live with me.” Victor swallowed, Yuuri’s eyes locked on his face. “Stay with me.” He tried for a painfully wobbly laugh. “Makkachin will miss you otherwise, and who else would I share victory katsudon with? Come with me, Yuuri.” _Be there in the mornings when I wake up, be there at night as I fall asleep. Cook with me. Chide me for leaving my clothes on the floor. Train with me. Hold onto me._ Victor couldn’t get his tongue to speak any of those confessions, despite the words choking him. Yuuri still didn’t say anything, staring, and Victor began to feel very off-balance indeed. These plans had seemed so simple and obvious, even mere minutes ago. “Yurio will be there, too, so it’s not like you won’t know people. I know it means leaving your family and Minako and Yuuko, but we’ll visit! And they’re always welcome to come to Russia! I’ll show you around St. Petersburg, we’ll go to all my favorite places! It’ll be amazing!” Victor’s voice had reached levels of stress he thought he’d be able to leave behind after the GPF, staring at Yuuri. _Oh no_ , Victor thought, despairing as he judged Yuuri’s shocked expression and dangerously damp eyes. _Skaters and glass hearts_ – 

“Really?”

Off balance and deeply unhappy with that state of affairs, Victor narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean, really?”

Yuuri closed his eyes, two tears rolling down his cheeks at his buried his face in Victor’s neck again, yielding in a way Victor rarely got to witness, but that Victor wanted to protect and cherish every time. The dampness didn’t immediately dissipate, so Victor was left holding Yuuri close as he mumbled, “You want me to come to Russia with you. You want to stay as my coach, even though you admitted you were worried about making a comeback if you did.” Yuuri’s voice was soft, lips brushing Victor’s throat. “It really is enough to have you like this, to see you happy returning to the ice to compete, you know. No matter what, we’ll stay together. We’ll find a way. You don’t have to be my coach, too.” The words lacked conviction, though; they were an acknowledgement instead that having and desiring were fundamentally different. “I need you too, Victor, so I need you to be happy. I just want to do what’s right. I wanted to do what was right and set you free. I’m sorry.” Yuuri so often spoke around his affections, as did Victor, but Yuuri’s blunt, simple words made Victor just tighten his arms around Yuuri until he squeaked.

Victor knew he didn’t have the power to explain the way in which skating, Yuuri, and love, were now inextricably bound in a way that would magically ease Yuuri’s anxiety for good. If Yuuri left skating, it would by necessity mean taking some vital part of Victor’s self with him. Victor smiled, then. Perhaps he didn’t need flowery terms to ease Yuuri’s fears; perhaps Victor could once again meet Yuuri on his own terms. “If you want to do what’s right, you already know what I need. Stay close to me, Yuuri, and don’t leave me. Please.”

Yuuri shuddered all over, pulling away from Victor’s neck, eyes faintly red-rimmed, and pulled Victor into a kiss that poured heat right into his bones. Victor responded eagerly, one hand sliding into Yuuri’s soft, dark hair while deepening the kiss. Comparatively inexperienced though he may be, Yuuri was a swift learner and never allowed an opportunity go to waste.

Victor felt Yuuri’s hands slide from Victor’s waist to the wall behind him, effectively trapping him while engaging in another deep kiss. In revenge, Victor slid his own hands under Yuuri’s shirt, albeit not too far. Despite the kiss at the Cup of China, practice for the Rostelecom Cup, and then practice for the GPF, had cut into whatever free time they’d had. Not to mention that in the rare event of free time, the walls at the inn were thin, with visitors constantly coming and going, and Yuuri’s family liable to pop up at inconvenient times. Then there was the fact that Yuuri’s more limited experience and natural reticence meant he hadn’t been quite so ready to indulge as Victor, and it just – well, they’d never gotten past much more than frantic makeouts and a couple of frankly embarrassingly quick handjobs when the stress peaked that had lacked all of the romance and drawn-out adoration Victor had wanted to bestow upon Yuuri at every opportunity.

This, though, this was all dangerous, seductive intent, Eros at its finest, cast at a man already deeply in Yuuri’s thrall. Breaking the kiss, Yuuri’s lips skimmed across Victor’s jaw, tongue flicking out over Victor’s pulse before his mouth parted and he sucked at the sensitive skin. Victor moaned, low in his throat, shifting to give Yuuri easier access. He moaned again, more loudly, when Yuuri’s hips pressed forward in unmistakable intent. Neither of them were hard, not yet, but Victor had been a man long denied, and it wouldn’t be long before Yuuri had him on his knees.

Again.

Victor was many things, but immune to even a hint of Yuuri’s arousal wasn’t one of them. Moving his hand from the small of Yuuri’s back, he cupped Yuuri’s jaw and brought their lips back together in a series of long, slow, filthy kisses that sounded obscenely loud in the empty rink. Yuuri’s tongue was dangerous, sliding alongside Victor’s own, and Victor’s hand slipped from Yuuri’s jaw to his hair. Grasping lightly, Victor used his hold to direct the kiss, leaning forward just enough into Yuuri that he had to work to keep Victor pinned against the side of the rink. This time it was Yuuri who moaned against Victor’s mouth, the musculature of his arms taut. “Yes,” Victor whispered, barely breaking the kiss to breathe the word against the slick curve of Yuuri’s mouth, tasting the way both their breath had gotten heavier.

“Not yet,” Yuuri countered, and dodged Victor’s kiss with sensual grace as he used his lower body and torso to push back against Victor’s hold, the crunch of ice sounding beneath Yuuri’s toe picks. That brought him in easy distance of Victor’s neck again, and Yuuri found the same spot on Victor’s pulse and deepened the faintly pink mark into something that was stark red and liable to bruise. Not that Victor planned on protesting, of course. Few things could hope to be more arousing and enticing than Yuuri staking a claim on Victor, than this heady cycle of needing and being needed.

Yuuri’s lips moved down a little, teeth applied judiciously, and Victor’s breath hitched. “You’re getting excellent at that,” he murmured, the English words feeling clumsy in his mouth as pleasure sparked across his skin towards his groin. He was willing to momentarily concede his desire to kiss Yuuri so long as Yuuri continued to make a mess of his throat.

Yuuri’s smile, pressed to Victor’s skin, was beyond dangerous, and in fact likely a signal of nuclear armageddon. “Well,” he purred, and Victor’s pants abruptly felt embarrassingly tight, “I’ve had an excellent coach.”

It wasn’t that Victor was unaware, exactly, of the fact that having Yuuri as his student brought out something possessive and hungry in him, he just hadn’t been fully aware that it was this much of a kink. That seemed vaguely unfair, although Victor couldn’t have explained for the life of him why. Yuuri seemed either oblivious or uncaring of the way Victor’s teeth sank into his own lower lip to hold back a groan; Yuuri was far more interested in rediscovering every spot along Victor’s throat and collarbones that elicited a response. They varied between miniscule gasps to an embarrassingly loud moan at a spot Victor himself had been completely unaware of near his left ear that made him stupidly weak in the knees. “Kiss me,” he demanded, voice rough-edged, and Yuuri obeyed as though he’d intended to do so all along.

Victor was perfectly content to lose himself in kissing Yuuri, and he did for a time, until Yuuri rolled his hips in a movement that Victor couldn’t tell whether it was intentional or not, and he felt both a little light-headed and a little bit like he either needed to get his hands on every inch of Yuuri or they needed to make that cold walk home before he did something foolish. “Yuuri,” he protested, pushing Yuuri away gently but firmly. It took him a moment to find the right words in English. “It’s still late. You’re still exhausted. We both are.”

Oh, Victor should not have pushed Yuuri away. That gave him a clear view of Yuuri’s face, and Victor seriously considered whether the seats surrounding the rink were sufficiently clean enough that Victor could risk having sex there without contracting something disgusting.

Yuuri’s lips were reddened, slick with spit and parted softly as he breathed heavily. His pupils were huge despite the bright overhead lights. His neck hadn’t gone completely unscathed either, and Victor knew that if Yuuri pulled off his shirt, there’s be at least a few scratches there, too, from where Victor’s wandering hands had taken advantage of the fact that Yuuri remained determined to keep Victor his willing captive, trapped between Yuuri’s warmth and the unyielding rink wall.

“Or,” Yuuri suggested with a brilliant glint to his eye that Victor recognized too late, “I could suck you off. Right here.”

_This_ , Victor thought cheerfully, _this is the story of how I die_.

Aloud, he said, “That seems – impractical. And possibly runs the risk of bloodshed.”

Yuuri tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “I think we’ve got motivation to find a way,” he countered with careful articulation. At least Victor wasn’t the only one whose grasp of English was becoming labored. “Unless you plan on doing this at home with half the inn listening? As opposed to right here, where no one else can get in, since you have the spare key.” Victor made a face in reluctant agreement, and Yuuri nodded. “Even if I’m on my knees, surely you can stand upright long enough, can’t you?” The implicit challenge became extremely explicit as he added, “Unless you think it’s that someone who’s never done this before could make it impossible for you to stay standing long enough to finish.”

“Who’s never – ” Victor began, about to protest more stringently out of what Yuuri apparently believed was a misplaced sense of chivalry, because he sank to his knees right there on the ice between Victor’s slightly spread legs. Victor’s hands hovered for a minute, torn between steadying himself with the wall, or Yuuri’s shoulders, _something_.

Yuuri’s fingers slid up beneath Victor’s shirt, stroking over taut muscles and sliding briefly over Victor’s nipples in a way that made Victor’s cock throb against the front of his slacks. His head fell back a little, eyes half-shut in self-defense. Worried about overwhelming Yuuri, Victor’s hands went to grip the wall, straining. His thighs were tense too, keeping himself upright. Already Victor knew that this would be over sooner than he liked, not because of any innate skill Yuuri possessed, but because of a ruthless combination of Yuuri’s sensuality, the fact that it’d been more than a year since someone had last sucked Victor off, and the undeniable love that swelled in Victor’s heart.

Yuuri’s hands moved restlessly over Victor’s chest for another moment or two, while his lips pressed brief kisses along the waistband of Victor’s trousers. “Don’t tease, darling,” he whispered. Every one of his senses was focused on how close Yuuri was to his cock and the intoxicating heat he brought with him.

“What?” Yuuri asked, and Victor stared down at Yuuri – swollen lips, eyes alight, expression focused – and Victor couldn’t figure out what was wrong for a second, until he’d realized he’d spoken in Russian. He knew his fair skin showed color far more easily than Yuuri’s, could feel the rush of discomfiture and arousal staining his cheeks and ears even more brightly.

“I said, don’t tease, darling,” Victor replied, this time in English. Yuuri’s eyes widened fractionally at the endearment, and then he was leaning in to breathe hot and heavy across Victor’s dick in a way that made Victor’s toes curl in his skates. “Fuck!”

Then, because Victor’s life wasn’t bad enough, Yuuri took the inadvertent but obvious bait to reply in age old custom: “Not today, but soon enough.”

This was _definitely_ the story of how Victor died.

Then, showing the first trace of visible nerves, Yuuri’s lips moved carefully across Victor’s covered cock and Victor’s grip on the wall went white-knuckled as he gritted his teeth. “If you have to stop at any time, do it,” Victor reminded Yuuri firmly, but there was a telling break in the middle that earned himself another one of Yuuri’s rare, sly, _smug_ smiles.

“I want to do this,” Yuuri replied. “I want to share this with you.”

“Oh, fuck,” Victor gasped. He had to take a moment to string together the words in English, but he issued a challenge of his own. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Spurred onwards, Yuuri’s fingers opened Victor’s pants, shoving them down slightly, followed by his underwear. Victor hissed as his cock was exposed to the cool air, and then cursed soundly in excessively depraved Russian as Yuuri’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock and sucked without an instant’s hesitation.

Victor could feel his body trembling as Yuuri’s tongue rubbed against the nerves directly beneath the head of Victor’s cock, the whole experience made a thousand times more intense by Yuuri’s focused and determined expression and the way he kept glancing up at Victor as though judging whether Victor was sufficiently close to falling apart. Daringly, Victor stroked a hand through Yuuri’s hair, breathing, “You feel _amazing_.”

Yuuri took the encouragement as reason to pull more of Victor into his mouth, moving with agonizing slowness and thoroughness. He never tried to take on too much, working his hand in tandem for whatever his mouth couldn’t handle. Victor hardly noticed that, though, since Yuuri was dangerously effective in learning what Victor liked best, figuring out what pushed Victor to moan, pushed his voice to breaking point – for Victor couldn’t seem to shut up now as he was pushed further to the edge of orgasm by incremental degrees, a ceaseless babble of nonsense in English and Russian largely centered around the idea that, “Yuuri, дорогой, please don’t stop, please – Блядь! Ты мне нужен! A little more – yes – _yes_ –” Victor groaned, head falling back as Yuuri nuzzled Victor’s balls gently, leaving his cock slick and painfully hard. Victor had meant to put his hand back on the wall to steady himself, he had, but Yuuri looked unbearably beautiful, and Victor was only human. His fingers tightened in Yuuri’s hair, not directing him, but needing to be able to touch Yuuri and know this moment went far beyond a mere fantasy.

“Victor?” Yuuri murmured, voice rough.

“What, Yuuri?” Victor replied, breathing heavily. God, just a little more, he’d gotten so close. Yuuri’s thumb brushed rhythmically across the slit, smearing precome around, and Victor only then truly understood how fucked he was. Experiencing Yuuri paying exquisite attention to learning exactly what Victor liked at an excruciatingly slow pace was worth sacrificing every last dignity and just begging. Yuuri’s presence alone could undo Victor; with his touch, Victor never stood a chance. “Yuuri, please. _Please_.”

“I’ll go with you to Russia.”

Victor’s lips parted in a rough cry as Yuuri slid down as far as he could easily take Victor and sucked hard, tongue playing along those nerves once more.

Victor _definitely_ never stood a chance. Not _ever_.

He came, and it was glorious, pleasure filling him up as his knees finally gave out.

With a ragged warning, Victor slowly sank down the wall, pants and underwear just barely high enough to keep his ass from the ice. Victor trembled in the aftershocks for a few moments, Yuuri tilting his face up to kiss him. He tasted like semen, and it was definitely gross, and Victor also didn’t give a single fuck so long as Yuuri kept kissing him this tenderly. Victor felt like he ought to be glowing, given how full his heart felt, and how much pleasure still thrummed in his veins. “Yuuri,” he breathed between kisses. “Thank you.” Fumbling, Victor tried to set himself to rights, wondering if this was the right time, but willing to fling himself headfirst on faith. 

When Yuuri had sent him away to Japan to care for Makkachin, Victor had spent most of the plane ride distracting himself by googling Japanese confessions of love, manners of engagement, and traditional weddings on overpriced airplane wifi to distract himself. Leaving Yuuri in that moment had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Victor had never wanted to stay with anyone the way he did with Yuuri, and the glance over his shoulder at Yuuri’s determined, beloved face as he’d slid into the taxi had struck him down. There could be no one else for Victor except Yuuri. 

When they’d reunited, Yuuri’s plea that Victor take care of him until he retired became the most important commitment Victor could possibly make. Victor found himself desperate to match Yuuri’s tenderness and fragile joy. Victor mentally repeated the words that he’d asked Minako to help him translate in the weeks leading up to the GPF, that he’d had Mari practice with him, that he’d expressed to Hiroko and Toshiya before Yuuri had stolen the sentiment from Victor’s lips with a pair of rings to bind them. Then, aloud, in his clumsy Japanese, Victor asked, “Will you spend the rest of your days skating with me?”

Yuuri’s eyes filled with tears, and he took Victor’s hand, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to Victor’s knuckles. That touch made it hard for Victor to breathe. “Yes.”

Victor brushed away the tears, kissing Yuuri softly. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered. He pushed Yuuri down to the ice, gently but inexorably. He pulled down the sweatpants Yuuri had donned, as well as his underwear just enough to bare Yuuri’s cock while making sure the rest of his skin was protected. Yuuri released a soft, shuddering breath that Victor wished he could etch into his memory forever. He settled for kissing Yuuri’s hipbones, and several of the faded stretch marks on his stomach before moving further down. Victor hummed at the taste of Yuuri as he wrapped his mouth around Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri arched, moaning. Knowing that it was too cold to keep this up for long, Victor ruthlessly pulled out every trick he knew to make Yuuri come undone.

In a minute, Yuuri was straining upwards, breathing heavily as he whispered Victor’s praises. In two, Yuuri was chanting in Japanese, a flow of words that Victor couldn’t understand but didn’t need to: the warmth and desire and affection that filled Yuuri’s voice required no translation. Victor pressed his fingers behind Yuuri’s tight balls, humming deliberately as he held down Yuuri’s hips so Victor would have complete control. Yuuri’s thighs shook, the flush spreading across delicate skin, and all Victor could think was, _I can’t do this without you anymore_.

“Victor – Victor – _Victor_!” Yuuri’s last rendition of Victor’s name was more a shout, a plea, than the previous whispered prayers. Expecting it, Victor swallowed as Yuuri came, sucking him gently through the aftershocks until Yuuri made a noise that Victor would happily pay to make Yuuri recreate.

Yuuri looked dazed as he stared at the ceiling of Ice Castle, breathing heavily. He was flushed, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, and Victor would move heaven and earth for him. For now, he shifted, keeping his skates well out of the way as he straddled Yuuri and kissed him, luxuriating in the afterglow. As Yuuri’s eyes cleared, Victor carefully put Yuuri’s clothes back in order and stood, pulling Yuuri up with him. Any other time Victor would take hours to enjoy the pleasure on Yuuri’s features, cuddle him until they fell asleep, but the ice really was very cold and Victor really was very tired, and he supposed he could live with Yuuri leaning into Victor like he was the only thing keeping Yuuri upright. There would be time enough for Victor to wrap Yuuri in blankets and sleep beside him once they made it back to the inn. Victor brushed off some of the remaining ice shavings, but nothing could really be done about the dampness of Yuuri’s shirt – or that of Victor’s pants. Victor kissed Yuuri once more, smiling into it. “Come with me,” he murmured, wrapped around Yuuri. “Skate with me.”

Yuuri smiled up at Victor, and the warmth that never felt far away from Victor these days made thoughts of darkness and endings a distant memory. “Always,” Yuuri promised, and Victor beamed, resting their foreheads together.

“I have one last request,” Victor whispered.

Yuuri gazed back steadily. “Yes?”

“Let’s go home.”

Yuuri laughed, eyes bright, and took Victor’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my computer for a couple weeks now thanks to my qualifying exam taking hold of my entire existence. Now that it's done, though, I can go back to shouting about YOI on [tumblr](http://rustingroses.tumblr.com/). Feel free to join me! Thanks, as always, to my incomparable beta, Laughing_Phoenix! Title is from White Blood by Oh Wonder.


End file.
